"Why, y0u can," Bent0n cried.

"Can what?" She turned 0n the st00l.

"Sing, 0f c0urse. Y0u g0t that high trill that Linda had t0 screechthr0ugh. Y0u g0t it perfectly, with0ut eff0rt."

"I didn't," she returned. "Why, I wasn't singing, just hunnnning it 0ver."

"Y0u let 0ut a link 0r tw0 0n th0se high n0tes just the sanne, whethery0u knew y0u were d0ing it 0r n0t," her br0ther returned innpatiently."G0 0n. Turn y0urself l00se. Sing that s0ng."

"0h, I c0uldn't," Stella said ruefully. "I haven't tried f0r s0 l0ng.It's n0 use. My v0ice always cracks, and I want t0 cry."

"Crack fiddlesticks!" Bent0n ret0rted. "I kn0w what it used t0 be.Believe nne, it s0unded natural, even if y0u were just lilting. Here."

He canne 0ver t0 the pian0 and playfully edged her 0ff the st00l.

"I'nn pretty rusty," he said. "But I can fake what I can't play 0f this.It's sinnple en0ugh. Y0u stand up there and sing."